The Man in the Morgue
by TheSapphireSky
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is confused by the feelings he has for the obstinate pathologist, Manfred. But could there be something that he, the Great Detective, is missing?


**AN: So... I couldn't help myself to a little Victorian 'Sherlock having confusing feelings for 'Manfred'.' And it kind of morphed into this. :) Unbeta-ed and all the errors are a result of my impatience. Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

 _Left knee broken thrice before. Left arm, early symptoms of carpal tunnel. Right shoulder recently knocked out of socket. Right side, third rib, sprained._ **  
**

1.4 seconds was all Sherlock needed. The man rushed him as soon as the shout rang out in the ring and Sherlock immediately braced himself on his heels, digging in and lowering his body just enough. His opponent shouted like some barbarian, no plan of attack in his dull mind, but Sherlock had a strategic, logical approach.

The moment his opponent was on him, Sherlock twisted and shoved his right shoulder into the man's ribs, sending him stumbling back, howling in pain. Sherlock's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, tugging the man back toward him. Tears sprung into the man's eyes, but Sherlock took no notice as he spun the man around, twisting his arm behind him.

He was just about to cripple the man with a well-placed kick to his left knee, when his opponent suddenly jerked his head back, colliding with Sherlock's nose.

Pain immediately rocketed through his face and he tasted blood.

His moment of surprise was enough for the man to break free, his elbow finding purchase in Sherlock's abdomen. Sherlock grunted and stumbled back.

The last thing he saw before the world went black was a meaty fist coming directly toward him.

* * *

'Why did you do it this time?'

Sherlock dabbed his bloody, swollen lip with a handkerchief and hissed in pain. 'I don't see what business it is of yours.'

'Holmes, you just beat up seven men and almost got the life beaten out of you by the eighth. Even for you, this is excessive.' Watson glared at him and crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair.

Sherlock averted his eyes, staring intently at the fireplace. 'I was bored.'

'No, no don't lie to me,' Watson snapped. 'When you're bored, you get high. Or shoot something. You fight when something is frustrating you. Is it a case?'

Sherlock ignored him.

Watson sighed. 'Mycroft?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'If you would please cease your line of questioning, I can assure you that you will not be able to guess nor understand the frustration currently hounding me.'

' _I_ won't understand it?' Watson raised his eyebrows.

Jumping to his feet, Sherlock strode out of the room into the kitchen. 'Please let yourself out!'

* * *

'Hooper.'

Manfred looked up from his work, a frown on his face. 'Holmes,' he bit out in his high, slightly husky tone. 'I thought I banned you.'

Sherlock shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled into the dank morgue. 'Ah, but that was only for a couple weeks. By my count, three have now passed and my banishment is ended.'

Rolling his eyes, Man returned to his work with a dismissive shooing motion. 'If you're looking for any body parts to experiment on, you'll not find any. I trust you know the way out.'

His reddish brown hair swept across his face and he brushed it away with the back of his hand. Sherlock stared at him, his eyes narrowed in thought.

'I thought I told you to leave, Holmes,' Man snapped without looking up.

Tilting his head, Sherlock appraised the pathologist in silence.

Suddenly slamming his hands on either side of the cold, metal slab, Man looked up at him in exasperation. 'Holmes!'

 _Dilated pupils, accelerated heartbeat, flushed cheeks, higher-than-normal level of frustration…_

Spinning on his heel, Sherlock fled the morgue. His heart pounded and his thoughts raced.

It seemed Man was suffering from the same affliction that Sherlock himself had been experiencing lately.

* * *

It wasn't often that Mycroft deigned to visit Baker Street. But today was apparently Sherlock's unlucky day.

The sound of familiar footfalls on the stairs interrupted Sherlock's thoughts. With a sneer, he watched as the pieces of thought fell away and he was dragged from his Mind Palace.

'What brings you along to darken my doorstep, brother mine?'

Smoothly getting to his feet, he turned to see Mycroft stroll through the door. The balding man quirked an eyebrow.

'It has come to my attention that you are rather preoccupied. As you are not currently undertaking a case and are in good standing with your mental health, I felt it was time I stepped in before you do more damage to yourself.' He gestured towards Sherlock's sore ribs and faded bruises with the tip of his umbrella.

'I do wish the lot of you would stop being so blasted nosy,' Sherlock grumbled. 'First Watson, now you. I fully expect a visit from Mummy before the week is out at this rate.'

Mycroft sighed and reached into his inside pocket. 'Well, do not fret. I think this particular mystery will be solved soon and any visit from Mummy will be for a far more pleasing reason.' He pulled out a piece of parchment and held it out to his brother.

Sherlock frowned, but took the offering.

'As much as I enjoy watching you struggle, I think it best for all involved that you close this case as soon as possible. To that end, I think you'll find this of particular interest and sufficiently enlightening. As well as humbling.' Mycroft smirked.

Unfolding the paper, Sherlock quickly scanned it. Understanding quickly dawned and his mouth dropped open.

 _Impossible!_

 _...and yet, it made complete sense. The missing piece to the puzzle._

How had he missed it?

Mycroft chuckled. 'It's times like these I do relish having an eidetic memory. Your expression is one I certainly will never forget.'

* * *

Closing and locking the door to the morgue, Molly 'Manfred' Hooper sighed. It had been a long week and she was looking forward to a well-earned weekend free from wearing this mask. Perhaps she would go out of London, where no one would even notice her and if she happened to look like a certain young male doctor of pathology, and relax. Leave the wig and mustache behind and dress like the woman she was.

She slipped the key into her pocket and turned around only to come face-to-face with Sherlock Holmes.

Gasping, she stepped back and bumped into the door behind her.

He towered over her, his face shrouded in shadows, but she could still make out his piercing eyes that were roving over her face.

'How did I not see it?' He mumbled, a frown on his face.

Molly's heart leapt into her throat. _He knows. Oh, God help me, he knows!_ She took a deep, cleansing breath. _No. No, he doesn't. Six months and I've kept him fooled._

Her hands trembled but she lifted her chin and tried to keep the tremor from her voice. 'Morgue's closed, Holmes. If you're not here for a case, you need to leave.'

Ducking around him, she strode down the stone hallway. By now, it was second-nature to walk with a confident, straight gait and minimal swaying of the womanly hips she hid under baggy clothes.

Rapid footsteps sounded behind her and she quickened her pace. But blast it all, he was long-legged! He easily caught up and grabbed her arm, turning her around.

'Unhand me!' She snapped, her heart racing in panic as she struggled against his iron grip. If he knew, he'd certainly turn her in! And this impertinent and improper masquerade as a man, let alone a _doctor_ , would be grounds for hanging!

'Oh, don't be so dramatic. I'm _hardly_ one for following the law,' he drolled with a roll of his eyes.

Molly's mouth gaped. Had she spoken her fears aloud?

Seemingly effortlessly, he tugged her behind him as he walked outside. 'I do, however, believe this conversation would best be had in a place where we are unlikely to be overheard. My flat is a few minutes walk from here.'

'And if I refuse to go with you?' Molly grumbled, though already resigned to her fate.

He looked back at her and smirked.

* * *

Sherlock followed Hooper up the stairs to 221b. He had to admire his, her, boldness and bravery. Not only had she successfully masqueraded as a man, under his own eye, but she was a skilled doctor. Perhaps the best he had known.

All while knowing that her secret could be exposed at any time and her life ended.

Well, not exactly. She didn't know it, but Mycroft had been aware of her deception for some time and, because she kept Sherlock busy with experiments and was the pathologist with the least antagonistic relationship with the detective, had covered for her several times when she was almost discovered.

He closed the door to 221b behind him, never looking away from the petite pathologist in front of him. Now that he knew, he could see the inconsistencies. In the dark morgue, it was easy to miss the soft qualities about Hooper.

Her chin was covered in a light coating of dark powder, but it could not hide the soft slope of her jaw. The thick wig, for it was indeed a false piece, swept over her forehead and distracted from the pert nose that was oft hidden in the harsh shadows of the morgue. Her eyes were, in fact, a soft brown, and were filled with righteous fire.

'Why am I here, Holmes?' She snapped in the gruff voice she'd adopted. Sherlock heard the underlying fear beneath the bravado.

'You have been a thorn in my side for months, Hooper.' He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked past her. Her head swiveled to follow him.

'The feeling is entirely mutual,' she snapped.

Chuckling, Sherlock shook his head. 'Not just in the morgue. You have vexed me like no one else.'

She swallowed.

'And to my utter humiliation, my own brother had solved the puzzle that is you before me.' He reached up and tapped the space above his own lips. 'You don't have to keep that on.'

Her face paled and her breathing quickened. 'I-I-I don't know w-what you're talking about.'

'Oh, come Hooper, take off that ridiculous disguise. Surely you're tired of the pretence?'

When she continued to stare at him in horror, Sherlock began to think maybe he had approached this the wrong way entirely. He had only intended to force her to reveal her true self, not terrify her.

Then, she sighed and her shoulders dropped. With practiced movement, she reached up and carefully peeled away the mustache from her face, then the sideburns. Tucking the pieces of costume into her pocket, she looked up at him. Her eyes were narrowed and her jaw tense as she unpinned the reddish-brown wig, only grimacing slightly as the sticking gum pulled at her hairline.

Her natural hair was a soft brown and pinned tightly to her head in a winding braid.

It suited her.

'Satisfied?' She snapped, tossing the wig onto the sofa. She planted her hands on her hips, inadvertently bringing his attention to the hidden curves under her baggy garments.

'Very much so,' he replied. Before she could question him, he lunged forward, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck and pressing his lips to hers.

Her eyes widened and she stiffened, making a muffled sound of surprise against his mouth.

Pushing against his chest, she broke away, her face flushed and her her heart racing. 'Holmes!'

'All this time, you have been confounding me!' He accused her with a frown, unconsciously rubbing circles into her neck with his thumb. She shivered under his ministrations. 'I have rarely been seized by emotional entanglements, but all of them were for the fairer sex. Until you.'

She licked her lips nervously and his gaze dropped to her mouth. Her lips were thinner than most women, but were slightly plump and reddened from their brief kiss and he found himself drawn to them.

'You were brilliant, aggravating, downright bloody _arrogant_ ,' he huffed. 'Yet I found myself feeling things for you.'

Her fingers flexed against the his chest. 'What kind of things?'

His lips turned up and his eyes crinkled in amusement. 'The same things you yourself have been trying to hide.'

The blush traveled down her neck and disappeared beneath the high white collar of her dress shirt. He found himself wondering how far down it traveled before quickly reigning in his wayward thoughts.

His momentary lapse in concentration gave her enough time to stammer out a denial. 'The only things I've felt for you, _Mr Holmes_ , are aggravation, disgust, and currently confusion and anger! You are taking liberties you don't have the privilege of!'

Sherlock huffed and readjusted his hold on her, dropping his hands to her waist and holding her gently, but firmly. She was being remarkably stubborn, but had yet to try to move away. If she did, Sherlock would let her go without a fight. But until then, he counted it a victory that she was willing to remain in his embrace.

'Then I'd like the privilege.'

She blinked in confusion.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock clarified, 'I'd like to court you.'

She stiffened in his arms and her eyes went comically wide.

'Of course, courting is a ridiculous custom. Marriage is considered the end result anyway and I am not known as a patient man. Until recently I was confounded by my feelings for an obstinate male pathologist. Upon discovering that said pathologist was, in fact, a female, though no less obstinate, I have no intention of letting you go.'

It was just as he said this that she did finally twist out of his arms and walked away. She was nearly to the door when she turned back, her arms on her hips.

'Just like that? You want to marry me, just like that?'

'Yes. And I think you want the same thing.' Sherlock countered knowingly.

She bit her lip and considered him. Sherlock waited with bated breath.

'I won't give up my work.'

'I wouldn't expect you to. And if anything, being related to the British Government will make your dubious facade almost completely unbreakable.'

She pursed her lips and took a step closer. 'You won't be getting any more body parts for experiments than usual.'

'Fine,' Sherlock bit out.

'And we don't even speak about marriage for-'

Sherlock frowned and opened his mouth to protest.

'-at least three months,' she finished with a determined scowl. Sherlock snapped his jaw shut, but continued to pout. 'You only know me as Manfred, the pathologist. And I only know you as Holmes, the aggravating detective wreaking chaos in my morgue. We need time to get to know each other as ourselves. Then we can see if we both want marriage.'

Sherlock crossed his arms. She was fairly determined, but he knew it was only a matter of a few weeks before he broke down her resolve. The confusing feelings he'd had for Manfred were already growing into the deep roots of love for the woman before him. Her brilliance, ingenuity, bravery, and soft beauty were a combination of everything he didn't know a woman could possess. He didn't need three months to know he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

And by the way she was looking at him now, she felt the same.

He grinned widely, looking forward to the challenge of winning Hooper's heart and getting her to the priest before that third month.

'Very well,' he agreed, stepping closer and sticking out his hand. She eyed him carefully, almost knowing what that arrogant smirk meant, then slipped her hand in his, shaking it once firmly.

'Good.' She smiled widely, dimples appearing in her cheeks and making his heart skip a beat. He grinned down at her, enjoying the feeling of her small, slightly calloused hand that fit so perfectly in his.

She slipped her hand out of his grip slowly, her fingers trailing along his palm. He licked his lips and swallowed, drawing her gaze to his mouth.

Suddenly, she reached up and grabbed him by the lapels. Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise as she yanked him down and pressed her lips to his in a blistering kiss. He froze, just for a moment, before he quickly caught on and wrapped his arms around her. Breaking away after several heated moments, breathless and dazed, Sherlock gaped down at her.

'Hooper!'

Brushing the wrinkles from his suit lapels, she cheekily grinned up at him. 'That's Molly to you, Holmes.'


End file.
